


my heart sings for you

by gaebolg



Series: bard husbands [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Pining, Sanson being oblivious as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaebolg/pseuds/gaebolg
Summary: Guydelot might just be in love with someone & Sanson tries to figure it all out.





	my heart sings for you

Sanson is perceptive enough to notice when something is off about his companion. In their journeys together, he’s grown accustomed to his habits. As a bard, he’s known to commonly go for the ale as it helps his spirits in the times he writes new songs. Performances at the bars have become quite frequent as well, although lately more so.

The lancer sits in the back of the tavern in that moment, scribbling in his journal, trying to drown out the rowdy crowd. It seems to grow worse as Guydelot strums his harp, singing a song that recounts the tale of a woman who’d been destined for greatness only to fall in love with a peasant.

Even when he finishes off the last verse, the patrons are hoisting up their mugs, ale splattering on the floor in an unseemly display that has Sanson sighing.

“Another – aye another!!”

Guydelot politely declines, still receiving praise despite him stating he needs a break. The crowd finally manages to quiet down a little as the main source of entertainment moves away from the stage and over to the bar.

“Popular as usual aren’t you?” When the bard approaches, Sanson inquires with a knowing tone.

“My charm is well-known throughout Eorzea.”

Sanson rolls his eyes at that.

He knows it’s true though, which is what dampens his moods during these times. Yes, Guydelot’s music is inspiring and beautiful, but it’s the choice of genre lately that has Sanson…concerned.

It’s not as if he owns the bard, much less owns his feelings, but Sanson’s been tending to a growing crush of which he remains steadfast in _not_ acknowledging. He’s well aware that Guydelot has no preference in terms of gender for his partner; however, they had a very rocky start to their journey, never seeing eye-to-eye until much later on. Finally establishing the basis for a friendship has Sanson extremely hesitant and anxious in ruining that.

That doesn’t necessarily put an end to his worries though.

“Your charm is what will get you in trouble one day, and I might not always be here to save your hide.”

Guydelot scoffs at that, chugging more of his ale before ordering another mug from the barkeep.

“I call your bluff. You’ll always come running since you can’t resist me.”

Sanson goes red in the face, words stuck in his throat as embarrassment leaves him mute at first. He fiddles with a few pages in his journal to distract himself and will away how fast his heart beats. There’s no way that Guydelot knows right?

“I’d prefer not having to pull you out of the middle of a brawl again for flirting with the tavern owner’s wife.” He brushes it off as best he can, bringing up a past incident from the start of their adventures together. It was so long ago, Sanson had nearly forgotten how he had to patch up Guydelot’s bloody nose and listened to the bard ramble for hours about how his favorite shirt had been ruined.

“That was one time, and besides, I’ve no interest in that lifestyle anymore.”

The bard gives no explanation for that statement. He takes his refilled mug in hand, giving a lilting smile to Sanson, and weaves back through the crowd with an intent to entertain the patrons again.

Sanson is left to his muddled thoughts, spending the rest of the evening trying to unravel the meaning in Guydelot’s words.

* * *

“Kupo! Is Guydelot here?”

Mogta is bouncing expectantly outside of the Adder’s Nest, and Sanson glances at the moogle and then to the small pouch in their grasp.

“I believe he’s out training with some new recruits and has been all morning.”

The moogle lets out a sigh, hovering lower to the ground as if they’re tired. It is a rather long journey from Moghome after all.

“And here he told me to come as quick as my wings could take me! Well, I can’t stay long kupo! We’re having a celebration tonight so I have other things to do! Can I leave this with you?”

Those small paws hold out the pouch to the lancer, and he raises a brow before taking it.

“Are you sure Guydelot won’t mind?”

“I don’t think so kupo! It’s just a stone after all.”

Sanson is filled with immense confusion. Why would he go through so much trouble for a stone?

“Ah well, I suppose I can give it to him then. Have safe travels back home.”

“Thank you kupo! Send a letter to us soon! I’m looking forward to more of Guydelot’s ballads. He’s writing so many love songs lately. The chief seems to like the ones that are a little…risqué. Kupopo well I’m off!”

The moogle then flies away, leaving Sanson to his usual bout of trying to figure out what the hell is happening with Guydelot.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Sanson manages to track down Guydelot who is out on field practicing his archery. It’s a hotter day than usual in Gridania, and the trees only cast so much shade, so it’s no surprise the bard has long since shed his shirt during his times of practice.

Sanson swallows thickly in his approach, trying not to focus on the way sweat glistens on Guydelot’s skin as if to have him glowing as bright as the sun. His muscles flex with another pull of the bow string, lips parting as the arrow flies to hit the bullseye.

Shaking his head, Sanson manages to gather his wits about him enough to stop staring like a fool and walk across the field to Guydelot.

“You had a visitor earlier, Mogta stopped by.”

Guydelot meets his friend’s gaze, a smile crossing his features despite how he’s panting a little.

Quickly moving along so as not to focus on that detail, Sanson pulls out the package from his side pouch, handing it over to its rightful owner.

“I wasn’t expecting this so soon, but a happy surprise nonetheless.” Guydelot runs his fingers over the pouch, and Sanson can’t help watching how those fingers move. It makes his face grow hot again.

“What’s it for?”

“Oh, a little something, nothing too important.”

Sanson frowns because the way Guydelot’s voice becomes playful hints that it _is_ something important, and he’s miffed at being denied knowing. Just what is Guydelot up to? He usually doesn’t bother with much aside from training, drinking, and singing.

“You have Mogta come all the way from Moghome with a _stone_, and you say it’s nothing too important. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“Sanson the Stiff is showing his impatience. Don’t get too worked up, you’ll see soon enough.”

With a heavy sigh the lancer throws his hands up in defeat.

* * *

The longer Sanson ponders, the more annoyed he becomes.

It’s like piecing together an impossible puzzle. He knows of the general aspects that make Guydelot tick, but the list of things lately just don’t match up to his usual habits.

Love songs are common enough for bards, but the amount Guydelot has taken to writing and singing is alarming to Sanson. And this thing with the stone? Is it really simply a stone? A stone can be many things, a jewel even, which again turns Sanson’s line of thinking towards it being a gift?

Could it be that Guydelot really is…in love with someone?

Sanson grows more intent on how often he watches Guydelot, finding every excuse to spend more time with him.

“I dare say, I’m starting to think you’re quite taken with Guydelot with how much you’ve been tied at the hip lately.”

One of the recruits says off-handedly, obviously joking, but it still has Sanson’s cheeks darkening all the same.

“We work together. Obviously we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

That’s always his excuse.

It doesn’t hold up as much when Sanson agrees to go home with Guydelot nearly every other night under the guise of helping him edit his latest ballads. Half the time they don’t even manage to focus on that, instead Guydelot recounts old tales from his younger days as they both lay under the stars.

Sanson hates how weak he is to Guydelot’s smile. It shows more often these days too, and Sanson selfishly finds himself wanting to keep it all to himself.

* * *

Nearly a month passes before Sanson is finally able to get an answer to the enigma that Guydelot has become.

The first round of potential prospects for the bard unit have completed their basic training, and were all officially recruited into the ranks. Of course, this is cause for celebration, and the taverns all across Gridania are filled with laughter and the ale overflowing. Needless to say no one is sleeping tonight.

“Guydelot! Play the one about that blasted whoreson!”

“No the one about the man thrice cursed!”

“Those are the same thing you idiot!”

With the growing crowd, Sanson has to push his way out closer to the doorway, and even then people are lingering there seeing as the tavern is completely full.

Guydelot manages to calm them down enough, appeasing them with a promise to play their song choices, but giving a requisite.

“Aye, all good choices, but allow me to play something new first.”

At the prospect of new ballad, the people are amped up all the more, intently waiting for the bard to start. With the first strum of his fingers, the noise dies down a little, but it’s after he begins to sing the first of the lyrics, the entire tavern grows quiet.

_Clothed in gold, he stole my soul_

_My heart clasped in his hold_

_Unbeknownst to him, on a whim_

_How I’ve grown to long for him_

_Infatuation as it seems_

_Serenity for the obscene_

_Oh how do his lips gleam_

_To caress him is but a dream_

_Yet dream as I might_

_On this very night_

_My hope still rings true_

_Just as my love does too_

Perhaps it’s the amount of emotion that seems to be in Guydelot’s voice that has everyone struck dumb in silence. Sanson is also frozen in place, his heart beating erratically with every new line that Guydelot breathes into existence. If this isn’t an inclination that the man is in love with someone, then Sanson is a fool.

A strange feeling rushes through him when the bard finishes, the tavern in an uproar with applause at the beautifully crafted ballad. It’s almost like a knife twisting in his heart, hands shaking as he tries not to overthink all of this. Of course, anxiety wins out, and soon enough he’s pushing past patrons to leave the bar that’s all too suffocating right now.

It’s only when he’s out of range enough that the noises from the bar are a distant memory that he is able to breathe a little easier. Still his throat is tight, and he’s quick to close his eyes because he knows any second now the emotions are going to get the better of him and then-

“Don’t tell me you’re turning in early.”

Just hearing the familiar voice is enough for Sanson to be shaken even further. He doesn’t dare trust himself to turn around for fear of how his emotions would betray him with a single look.

“I’m not, it’s just very crowded.”

Guydelot hums in agreement while being a little breathless from how fast he gave chase to Sanson. Sensing the mood, he’s stopped some feet away from the other, merely observing him.

“Did you like my song?”

“It was…very nice yes.” Despite trying to keep his voice from wavering, he fails. Sanson’s body goes tense at the realization, and he hopes that Guydelot will make another remark or two before leaving him be. Let him suffer in peace.

“I’m glad.” Guydelot doesn’t leave at all though, in fact he takes a step forward.

Sanson can hear the leaves crackling from his approach which puts him more on edge. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to steady his breaths, knowing full well that if he speaks again it’s going to show the hurt that is growing by the second.

“You know, you can be quite dense at times, along with being stiff. I should’ve expected that though.”

Having playful jabs that hold hints of truth to them tossed at him in a moment of weakness has an anger flaring in Sanson. Is it not enough that he has to suffer with the knowledge that Guydelot holds affection for someone else? The anger is close to manifesting itself, but the moment he part his lips the words never form.

Guydelot embraces him from behind, warmth emitting from the moment their bodies meet. His voice is low, almost comforting, as he dips his head down to speak against his ear.

“I wrote that song for _you_.”

It takes a moment for Sanson to process what he says, but once he does, this time the tears he’d been holding back do fall, defenses crumbling in an instant. Gradually Sanson eases up a little in Guydelot’s arms, finally opening his eyes to see how one of Guydelot’s hands is curled up as if he’s holding something.

“Why couldn’t you just say that from the start?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”

Guydelot tilts his head in to brush his lips over Sanson’s cheek, kissing at the stray tears that have fallen.

That alone has Sanson tingling all over. He exhales slowly, recomposing himself while he finds he more than likes how Guydelot holds him.

“I have one more surprise if you’ll allow me to give it to you.”

“Mmm properly this time?” Sanson asks, tone a little more colorful and calmer than earlier.

Guydelot chuckles near his ear, sending a shiver down Sanson’s spine. Though he doesn’t have much mind to notice it, not with the way that hand opens to show a ring embedded with a ruby that glimmers in a magical way from the moonlight.

“That stone that Mogta brought was actually a gem, one from the caverns deep in the recesses of Sohm Al Summit. I’ve been honing my blacksmith skills for the past few months, hoping to refine it into something worthy for you to wear.”

Sanson raises a hand to his mouth, overcome with emotion as he can’t help how he nearly cries again. He can’t even remember the last time someone did something so thoughtful or heartfelt for him. As he turns in Guydelot’s arms to lean into his chest, those arms never stop embracing him, and he can feel Guydelot kiss the top of his head, and then down to his cheek.

Suddenly it all makes sense. The way Guydelot kept smiling, never questioning how much Sanson would spend time with him. Thinking back it’s been a little over a month since that Guydelot received the stone as well, so all that time…he’d been working so hard on this, all for him. The realization has Sanson tilting his head up, cupping the side of Guydelot’s face as he doesn’t spare a second thought in kissing him.

Guydelot enthusiastically responds, as if he’s been holding back and craving Sanson for years. When Sanson cards his hand into brown locks, Guydelot can’t help deepening the kiss, raking his tongue across Sanson’s lips until they part, and once he tastes him, Guydelot knows Sanson is his addiction.

When they pull apart, they’re still close enough to share breaths, and Sanson blushes the moment he feels Guydelot reaching for his right hand. The ring is slipped onto his index finger, fitting perfectly, and Sanson smiles. The warmth of Guydelot’s hand against his own doesn’t cease, intertwining their fingers together, and the touch has Sanson looking up at him again.

“Maybe one day I’ll make another one that’ll serve a different purpose.”

That insinuation is muttered against Sanson’s lips, and he doesn’t even have time to react to the meaning of it before he’s kissing Guydelot hard once more. It has Sanson leaning up on his tip toes and gripping into his hair, melding their bodies together as if they’re not close enough even then.

Guydelot laughs into the kiss, and Sanson’s heart flutters, his own smile felt in the way their lips meet again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> hey writing a love ballad is a little difficult, I feel for guydelot trying to do that shit on the daily
> 
> otherwise I already have another part for them in the works :')
> 
> feel free to follow me on twitter for my multi-fandom hellscape!! 
> 
> \- @ GAEBOLGNOVUS


End file.
